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In the end, it isn't hard to find him.
Two weeks of paid vacation and two thousand dollars worth of savings prove to be more than he needs. One week and three round-trip tickets is all that it takes.
First, he'd chased phantoms all the way to Berlin—after all, the shop had been there once before, so why not again? Berlin, 1938—that's what the photo said. It had been long enough—enough time for most people to forget.
But that was a dead end. It was too early, really—too little time for word to get around, too little time for all of the paperwork that normally went into running a business to be filled out. He scoured the streets, peeking into windows, and even hung around the Business Location Center headquarters for awhile before finally giving up.
And then he went to Japan, because he knew he couldn't stop moving. He was afraid to find out what would happen if he did.
Now, he'd be the first to admit that going to Japan had been really fucking stupid. He didn't have any leads—he had to work with what little he knew. And he knew, because of Granddaddy D's helpful insight into immortal vendettas, that D was from China. He also knew that D liked Tibetan dogs and Peruvian fish, but figured that could wait another day. He wanted to try D's homeland first.
So why he got a ticket for Japan rather than China, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he knew Japan was a hell of a lot smaller and relatively easier to search. Maybe it was because D had called him Orcot-san all of twice, but yeah, he'd looked it up, and it was a Japanese thing, not a Chinese thing, same as Pon-chan and T-chan. Or maybe it was because he was a stupid American who couldn't tell a goddamn thing apart and preferred to lump the rest of the world into the category of "oh, you know, those places over there." Or, more specifically in this case: "Asia."
Anyway, halfway through the plane ride, he'd smacked his head against the window.
Due to some funny business with his passport, that mistake had cost him three days. Finally, though, he arrived in Beijing, a city he picked because it had people—lots of people—and because he knew it was tourist-friendly. Or he thought it was. When he checked into his hotel, he asked the woman at the front desk where he could find the Kunlun Mountains. All she told him was, "Nowhere near here."
So he bought a map, and tried to figure it out for himself. And what he found was that maybe he should have gone to Tibet after all.
But Beijing had numbers in its favor—numbers that could form not only ample clientele for a small pet shop, but also anonymity when customers turned into victims. So Leon stayed, and asked around, and was finally rewarded when an old woman looked at him sagely and said yes, she knew right where Count D was.
And that's where he's going now.
The main streets of Beijing are deceptive: brightly lit though it's nearly two a.m. The time means that jet-lag doesn't apply, doesn't matter—he's wide awake, his clock still ticking the beat of Los Angeles.
He turns down the street the woman at the food stand indicated, and stops dead in his tracks. He can see the sign: Chinese, with English in slightly less elegant script below.
He feels cold, even though he shouldn't.
He feels calm, even though he shouldn't.
He walks quietly to the door and picks the lock.
The room is dark, but not silent, and he is thankful for that, because silence means crossing oceans and wondering why D left. He takes cautious steps, scuffing his shoe gently across the floor before stepping down, trying to keep from treading on someone's tail.
He finds a lamp, and suddenly the room is bright. He hates it immediately, because it is not the same, except for the incense, and oh, he never thought he could miss that stuff so much.
It takes him a moment to realize that the animals have gone silent. They study him from every corner, and he wonders why he isn't dead yet.
He decides he doesn't really care. He sets a white box full of German doughnuts on the table and sits down on a couch that is not his couch. He looks around the room, decides he really doesn't like it, and then just stares at the box. He wishes desperately that it felt like home.
There's a scratching sound on the hardwood floor, and then a head peeks around the side of the sofa. Pon-chan's black-ringed eyes widen as she realizes that it's him. He remembers talking to her once, in the midst of panic. He remembers hearing her response, pitched lightly in a girlish voice.
He would try it again now, but he doesn't know what to say.
Eventually he has to admit that yeah, he may be crying. The wetness on his face is convincing enough—doesn't take a detective to put the pieces together. Pon-chan crawls into his lap and rubs her face against his, and he tries very hard not to picture the little girl he knows he saw: the small, smiling thing with the long, curly hair.
He puts his arms around her body and pets her fur. He keeps crying, even though he knows it isn't manly.
Soon, he hears movement down the hallway. Then a familiar voice, calling out in what he can only assume is Mandarin. It causes the hair on his arms to stand on end, and the tears to stop. He doesn't try to respond. He just grips Pon-chan tighter and stares fixedly at the table.
Then he can hear a body behind him, and the Mandarin cuts off abruptly. It takes D only seconds to recover.
"My dear detective… What brings you to Beijing?"
What brings you to Beijing?
Leon wants to scream. He can't imagine why he hasn't yet.
"Detective?"
Such a polite tone, so detached, and not worried at all, though he should be. Leon can't believe he was such a fool.
There is a rustle of cloth as D moves to stand just in front of him, covering Leon's vision with black and red and white. Leon's eyes travel slowly upward to meet mismatched ones, but wander away again after seeing the coolness there. He would give anything to see them soften, to hear that voice ask him once again to stay forever. Anything for it not to be a joke, an empty promise of what could be.
He hears a strange sound as something repeatedly touches the hardwood floor, and then T-chan moves into his line of sight. He stares at the goat creature, remembering the attractive boy he saw briefly on the ship. He wants D to explain, but knows there are more important things to be said. He just doesn't know if it's worth the effort.
D's voice startles him.
"Detective, do say something. Your silence is quite unnerving." In fluid movements, D lowers himself onto the couch next to Leon, keeping a distance between them that Leon is certain has never been there before. He doesn't tuck his legs underneath himself and turn his body sideways the way he used to, on those days when Leon would sit there with blood on his hands, seeking reassurance, needing someone to tell him that it wasn't his fault. No, this time his posture is prim and proper, though he certainly isn't dressed for it. One hand, slightly above his breastbone, is clutching together the thick fabric of his robe. The garment is only just managing to cling to the curves of his pale shoulders, and Leon fights to urge to grab them, to yell into his face that this isn't okay, that he needs the old D and he needs him now, because he's never felt so lost.
But the words never form, he's so horribly calm. Perhaps that's why D hasn't offered him tea.
"German doughnuts," he says finally, indicating the box on the table with an indelicate movement of his foot. "For you. Five days old. Throw them out if you like."
He sees D's hand reach for them, quick and excited, but then he pulls back.
"You certainly did not need to bring me anything."
"I'm aware of that," Leon answers flatly, regarding the box. There is a pause, and out of the corner of his eye, Leon can see D worrying the hem of his robe. T-chan, apparently bored, turns around to sniff the doughnuts before retreating to the other side of the room.
"Perhaps you should leave," D says suddenly, causing Leon's head to whip around in surprise.
"You're throwing me out?" Now he feels a little less calm. He jumps to his feet, tossing Pon-chan unceremoniously onto the couch. Both of his hands move up to his forehead and run frantically through his hair. They stay behind his head for a moment as he thinks, and then move outward, into a gesture of annoyance.
"Fine!" he says angrily, his voice rising at last. "You know what? Fine! I'll go. But before I do, before I go fly over the fucking ocean again, you will answer my questions." He can see that D is about to argue, so he points a warning finger at him and jumps right in. "Why did you come here? Tell me."
There is a pause, until at last D lets out a small, resigned breath and gazes at him from under dark lashes. "As you wish, Detective," he says, lips forming that artificial smile that never fails to delight the clientele. Having that smile turned on him is worse than being shot. Worse than falling out of an airship. "To answer your question, I came to Beijing because China has not yet signed an extradition treaty with the states."
That isn't what Leon meant at all. "I meant, why did you leave?"
D looks at him with amusement, as though the answer is obvious. "I left, my dear Detective, because I did not want to be arrested by your FBI." D's eyes are laughing at him, and Leon curses just to make them harden.
"Don't fucking lie to me, D. You couldn't have known the FBI was interested in you until after you left the first time. Why the fuck was your shop deserted?"
D doesn't answer right away. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it again after only a moment. His mismatched eyes go unfocused, and he seems to be staring right through Leon rather than at him. When he speaks, the smile is there, but his voice is unreadable.
"It was time for me to move on."
That unfocused stare is unnerving, and Leon moves just to avoid it. "What do you mean, move on? Why was it time?"
D's gaze lands on him again, but it's distant. He's hiding, and Leon can feel it.
"It came to my attention that certain situations were becoming decidedly unhealthy. I felt it best to leave."
Leon doesn't know what the hell D's talking about, and isn't sure he'll get more than vague answers anyway. So he drops it, and moves on to the rather more important part.
He struggles to find the words.
"Look… I know you didn't want me on your ship, D." He can still feel those long fingers pressed against his chest, the wind against his body as he fell—and the contradiction of tears in D's eyes, but who knows what that meant? "But—but why didn't you tell me where you were going? And the first time—" He closes his eyes, swallows, trying not to picture those empty rooms. "The first time you disappeared—why didn't you tell me you were leaving?" Empty rooms. Empty rooms. No car to chase after, just empty rooms. He remembers Harry, the hundreds of words left unsaid. Remembers the dreams, where the mere thought of losing D was worse than the real loss of his childhood friend. Knows what that means.
Knows he has to say it this time.
D's eyes are studying him, and his lips are forming a frown. He looks worried now, as though he's put the pieces together. Leon thinks it's about damn time—he wants D to know exactly what he's done, what awful parallels he has made. They are both quiet for a moment, Leon's question hanging in the air, but D doesn't seem to know what to say. So Leon takes a deep breath and tries to force out the words. He didn't come to China for nothing.
"Look," he says, moving closer, crossing his arms. "I know you're immortal, or whatever the hell it is, and I know you've got these weird animals, and I know you don't like humans much, okay? But none of that means you can just disappear without even giving people a chance to say the stuff they need to. That ain't right." The conversation trails into silence now, because he's losing his nerve. The idea that D would even care—it's so foolish. The man is immortal. He left without a goddamn word…
"Mr. Detective…" D's voice breaks through the quiet, and his eyes are softer. Leon feels a surge of hope. "I did try to warn you. But you were in such a mood, and I did not want an argument." He tilts his head to the side, regarding Leon suddenly with what seems to be affection. Leon's chest loosens slightly, and a rather stupid smile comes across his face in spite of his desire for it not to. "Though entirely appropriate, given our history, I did not want such arguing to be my last memory of you." Now, Leon does smile a little, willingly. D returns the look for a moment, but it becomes rueful. A small, uncharacteristically nervous readjustment of his hand causes one side of his robe to slip down further. Leon does his best not to stare, and D clears his throat softly. "I am—ah—sorry if my abrupt departure was reminiscent of other things. I did not realize it would be. But leaving was very necessary." He pauses, and his gaze slips to the floor for a moment, before resting very resignedly upon Leon. "Therefore, I feel it would be best if you said your piece and left."
Leon feels suddenly sick. D smiled at him—he doesn't understand why he's still being thrown out. And he still hasn't been offered tea. He backs away, wounded, confused. Obviously D doesn't want him here. How could he have been such an idiot?
He jumps when his back hits the door. Doesn't realize he's crying until the look D is giving him registers as frightened as fuck.
He tries to get out what he wants to say despite the tears running down his face, even though D probably doesn't want to hear it. Definitely doesn't want to hear it.
"I know I'm just a stupid human, D, and that you don't care, don't fucking care about me at all." The words are poison; he chokes on them, and they make him cry harder. But he has to break the cycle. The parallels end here.
"I didn't want to let you leave without telling you I loved you, okay? I didn't want to let you leave before I could beg you to fucking stay." He wipes his hand across his face, shaking his head, remembering his whole goddamn fucked up life in an instant. "Everyone is always fucking leaving." He closes his eyes, finds the doorknob with his hand. Turns it, turns his body, is almost outside, but turns back. D's still sitting on the sofa, more rigid than usual and looking stricken. Pon-chan and T-chan are right beside him, looking frantic. Leon just stares at him for a long time, trying to get his mind around the idea that he'll never see him again. He shakes his head, because it doesn't make sense.
"I really thought you meant it when you asked me to stay forever."
D opens his mouth, but Leon doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to be told what a stupid fucking idiot he is. He has said his piece.
He leaves.
"Chase after him, Count!" Percival is shouting.
I didn't want to let you leave without telling you I loved you…
"Count? Count, come on!" Pon-chan's voice.
…without telling you I loved you…
"Shut up, all of you! Give the guy some space!"
The quiet that follows T-chan's command makes little difference. D's frozen in place, running the words over and over through his mind, trying to comprehend. Leon…loves him?
Clearly there is more to his dear detective than meets the eye. He never once thought that Leon—Leon, of all people—could feel this way. D had played with him from the beginning, but it was all very one-sided. And now, suddenly, he's confessing…love?
Love. It makes D uneasy. He thought he had been in love once, but things had not gone well. He just doesn't understand it. In fact, he had told Monica as much, just weeks ago.
Monica, yes. She was the reason he was here.
"Is… Is there someone else in your life? Someone special?" she had asked him.
"No," was his response.
Not any person…is there?
He'd had to leave. He'd known that it was happening again, the obsession—that dark thing that made him cleave to something and never let go. That wasn't the way that humans loved. They could not stand the hunger, the intensity. He knew this. And so he left, before Leon's presence became too familiar, before he convinced himself that he needed that cursing, womanizing, gun-carrying, horrendously American detective. That amusing, protective, loyal, thoughtful detective who brought him sweets just because. He had to leave, before Leon stopped dropping by on his days off. Before he made Leon completely hate him.
Chris's departure had made it easier. He picked a day, and when it came, he made muffins. They weren't very sweet, and he was certain Leon would like them, but things had gone all wrong. Leon was distant and angry, and very unapproachable. Before they could talk, Leon's phone went off, and he disappeared up the stairs of the shop. And D had wanted to say something, came so close to doing so, but in the end he just couldn't find the words.
And then…his father, and his grandfather, and Agent Howell. A huge mess that left him flying through the air with Leon, who knew about everything, and thought he was a monster. He had wanted to leave before Leon hated him and he had failed completely.
Or so he'd thought.
The shop seems colder now than it has any right to be. He moves for the first time in minutes—possibly hours—pulling his robe around himself tighter and positioning his sleeves so that his hands may stay warm. The animals have left the room, save for T-chan, who moves to sit beside him now that he's shown some sign of life.
"Count," he begins quietly, "you know I'm not a member of the Leon fan club. In fact, I'd really, really love to eat him. Really. But I'm thinkin' that maybe I shouldn't. I'm thinkin'…that maybe you should go after him. Maybe he's not that bad a guy." It's all very grudging, and it makes D smile slightly.
"Such a glowing recommendation coming from you, Tetsu," he observes. "But I cannot, as you say, go after him. Love between our species is not possible." It makes his heart hurt to say it.
T-chan snorts. "You don't know a damn thing about love, then. If not a human, who will you love? It wasn't very long ago that you were going to let me eat you, Count, and that right there is a whole hell of a lot unhealthier than anything you're thinkin' about right now."
D scowls. "That wasn't—"
T-chan waves a hand to silence his protest. "Don't go there. If the state of the buttons on your changshan were any indication, you were smitten with my human form. Yeah, you might have been willing to lose a few limbs to add a fine totetsu like myself to your collection, but there was more to it than that, and you know it."
D colors slightly but doesn't argue. Instead, he confesses, "I don't know what to do. Detective Orcot"—T-chan rolls his eyes at the ridiculous formality—"showed no signs of his feelings until I left. For as much sense as it made, we may well have been hallucinating the entire evening." Something occurs to him, and for a moment, D smirks. "I told you not to get those herbs."
Now it's T-chan's turn to scowl. "It wasn't the herbs! Unlike some individuals in this shop, I do know how to cook. Don't insult my intelligence."
Smiling, D moves his hand to pet the totetsu soothingly. "I trust in your competence completely, T-chan."
"Mmmmph, well, you should." In a languid motion, T-chan drapes himself thoroughly over the Count, whose arm goes around him automatically. He rests his chin on D's shoulder and speaks into his ear. "Count, we need to go back."
D sighs softly, leaning his head against T-chan's. "We're too different, Tetsu. He can't give me the things I need."
"Then you at least owe him an explanation. Count, he was crying. That wasn't just bizarre—it was sad."
D closes his eyes, considering it all. The tears, the words, and how hard it was to not take Leon into his arms.
I really thought you meant it when you asked me to stay forever.
Oh, if only a human could be prepared for forever.
It doesn't take him long to get back to Los Angeles. Hands in his pockets, he walks down the street, and flinches when he hears police sirens. He dreads going back to work, with no one to dress his wounds, to wait for him to wake up at the hospital. It had been nice to have someone who cared.
He can picture D's face—
Leon?! You're bleeding…
Hey, it's just a dream. Quit acting so worried!
—ashen and angry, and his hands, so soft, working to keep the blood inside rather than on the ground. And those strips of cloth that he pulled so tight so many times. Were they conjured from thin air? Or had D always come prepared, knowing that trouble and Leon went hand in hand?
It doesn't matter now, of course. That D is gone, replaced by something cold and strange, something unrecognizable and oh so very wrong. But maybe that's just the way of immortals.
But maybe…maybe if Leon had said something before. Maybe things could have been different, if only he had known! If only he had noticed all of these little things, and how much he treasured them, and how their brief antagonism had fast turned to friendship, and how that friendship could easily be more. D had seemed so willing, and Leon had drawn comfort from it, taken advantage of it, but never gotten too close, because letting people in means giving them the chance to hurt you, and Leon had had enough of that. Not to mention the fact that D was a guy, and yes, maybe that was okay way back when, but now he was an officer, and he'd be risking his job or maybe even more, depending on the whims of his superiors.
Right now, of course, he'd give up the job in a heartbeat, but it doesn't matter at all. D's already gone, in more ways than one. Maybe his D doesn't even exist anymore. Maybe he never did. Maybe that's just the way of immortals.
Maybe he needs to go to sleep just so his chest can stop aching.
He fumbles to find the key to his apartment, considers just breaking down the door. When he finally gets it open, it's dark inside and the air is stale. For a second, he thinks he can smell the perfume of the shop, but knows he's only being haunted. He flips the light on.
His eyes immediately land on his abandoned crutch, leaning useless and forgotten against the wall. He kicks his shoes off next to it. The doctors had said it was a miracle he could walk so soon, but personally he thought it was a miracle he could walk at all. He can remember the pain, and the worried look on D's face, but now there isn't even a scar, not on his leg or his arm or his chest. Well, at least not any new ones. And he knows there damn well should be.
Rubbing his thigh absently, he walks toward the bedroom, bypassing the kitchen because he knows there's nothing in it. He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and starts to unbutton his jeans.
"I see your leg has healed well, Detective."
He nearly jumps three feet into the air. He whirls around, and D is standing there, elegant and completely out of place in the mess of his apartment. Heart pounding, Leon looks him up and down.
D's black changshan could have been made for a funeral: cold, naked tree branches spread out to curve around his form, streaking the garment with silver, an accusation like the bite of winter. He can remember being tricked before by such elegance, by a man just as beautiful… Leon's gaze lifts suspiciously to his intruder's eyes, but the colors are right—purple and gold. His D, or some version of him at least, and Leon lets his guard down slightly.
D's voice continues, and it sounds almost normal. "I had hoped the brief time you spent on our ship would benefit you. Does it hurt at all?"
Leon tries to wrap his head around that one. The ship? Okay, fine. He can deal with that. He's seen and heard stranger things. "No. No, it's fine." Long fingers, soft hands, and those strips of cloth, fixing him, caring for him, and oh god, why is D here?
"What—" His voice is hoarse, so he clears his throat, repeats himself. "What are you doing here?"
D's colorful eyes are traveling downward, making Leon very conscious of his state of undress. He fidgets, and D meets his gaze again, walking closer with a predatory smile, until he's just inches away.
"My darling Detective…" he drawls, "the consensus seems to be that I owe you an explanation." A delicate eyebrow is raised before he continues. "My thoughts are that you owe me one as well." He presses a finger against Leon's bare chest for emphasis. "Why don't you go first?"
Leon swallows. "Wh—what am I explaining?"
D tilts his head to the side, looks up at him from under long lashes. "Why, your unanticipated declaration, of course." Mismatched eyes fall after the words have been said, and suddenly there are fingers on his chest again, moving in strange patterns and circles. It takes him a moment to realize there is a method to this madness—D is tracing the invisible lines of his injuries. The fingers glide over his skin, and oh, Leon is beyond speech, until at last the hand stops, and a palm comes to rest over his heart. D's eyes are closed, but only for a moment, and when he opens them again, he lets out a little sigh.
"Well?"
The hand leaves, or tries to, but Leon captures his wrist, the same way he has so many times before.
"Please stop fucking with me." The words are desperate and raw, but he can't take this, can't take D acting like this if he's just going to change again.
A shadow passes across D's face. With haunted eyes, he pulls away, rips away with that strength that has always been a surprise. He retreats across the room, not looking at Leon, wringing his hands in an absent manner.
"Please just answer the question, Detective."
Hands shaking slightly, Leon buttons his jeans back up, but doesn't bother with the shirt. He tries to find the words that D is looking for, and then it hits him.
"The picture. The one that Chris drew. You had it in your suitcase." D doesn't respond, doesn't tell him why it was there, so he barrels on. "When you left the first time, I did a lot of thinking." He gestures at their surroundings. "I thought about how miserable it was just coming home to my stupid apartment, and how even on my days off I was always at the pet shop. I thought about the way you'd scream to high heaven every time I got so much as a scratch, and how you listened to me when I had a bad day. And I thought about how whenever I knew you were in trouble, my entire body would go fucking tense, and I could never get to you fast enough. And so…despite all that stuff Howell was telling me, and all the evidence that was always pointing to you, I had to call it as I saw it." He shrugs, staring at D, who still hasn't looked at him. "I was in love with you."
D flinches a little, and Leon scowls, kicking at the ground. "But it wasn't all butterflies and rainbows, ya know? I still didn't know what to make of you, and I sure as hell didn't trust you in a lot of ways. And you just left, which I still don't understand. I thought I at least warranted a goodbye." He sighs, crossing his arms, trying to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, forcing himself not to think of those empty rooms. After all, D's right here—he didn't disappear into thin air.
"Anyway, when I saw that picture later, that's when I knew I had to tell you." He runs a nervous hand through his hair. "I've let things go unsaid before, but the stuff in that picture—those were—we were—" he swallows, lowering his voice, slightly ashamed, "—we were almost like a family." He leans against the door frame and stares at the floor, unnerved by the sudden silence of the apartment. Embarrassed as all hell, he mutters a conclusion: "I think that answers your question."
D is quiet for a long time, and Leon fidgets uncomfortably, waiting for something to be said. Finally, D murmurs, "I believe it does, Detective-san," and rises, making his way toward Leon again. There are tears in his eyes.
Leon sees them, and reaches for him, all fear and protectiveness. "Are you okay?"
D's hands warn him off, keep Leon from taking him into his arms. "No. No, my dear detective, I am not okay. And before I say more you must, must understand that, given our natures, any kind of relationship between us is impossible." His eyes are so sad, shining and pleading, but Leon is puzzling through the meaning of his words.
He hopes to god he's on the right track.
"Do you… D, do you love me?" He can hardly believe it, not now, not after that trip to Beijing.
D's nod is tortured, and he looks so frail, so very unable to deal with where this conversation is headed, but Leon's heart leaps. He moves forward, grasps D by the shoulders.
"Say it!" he demands, because a nod really isn't enough.
And D closes his eyes, pressing his hand to the curve of Leon's cheek, and Leon's heart is racing because he knows, knows that this is his D. Knows because mismatched eyes fly open to meet his own as perfect words tumble past painted lips.
"I love you, my darling detective."
And then he's crushing D against him, holding on for dear life, and there are small sounds of protest, but Leon doesn't care.
He's finally home.
"Detective, I really must insist… Leon, you don't understand…" He murmurs the words helplessly against the hollow of the other man's neck, tears falling forgotten down his cheeks. Leon has never held him like this before.
He surrenders because he cannot bear to pull away. He leans into this human, into this man he loves, fingers clinging to the naked flesh of his back. He buries his face against the soft neck in front of him, feeling the strong, frantic heartbeat, the one he has worked so hard to protect. The bitter words he needs to say hang heavy in the background, but his treacherous lips won't form around them, won't forsake his desire. Every second he waits will only cause another wound, but—
—but—oh god—
—Leon is kissing him now, hard and possessive, one hand on his jaw while the other clutches his hip, and D might be immortal but he's no match for this. He moans because he has to, moves his hands to cup Leon's face, returns the kiss fiercely. But a litany of mine, mine, mine runs through his head and then he has to break away, has to back away and keep his distance.
"Stop." He's breathless and begging, but Leon listens and waits. The space between them is on fire, and they both stare across the flames, into kindred eyes that speak of desire and need in ways that words never possibly could.
After a moment, D finds his voice.
"Leon…Leon, this cannot happen. You don't understand. I'm not…" He lowers his head, color rising to his cheeks. "I'm not normal."
And Leon smiles. "D, I think I sort of noticed that. The whole flying thing was a pretty good indication."
"That is not what I mean!" D sighs and brings a hand to his brow, thoughts racing. "My kind," he says, trying to explain. "When we love, we love differently." He lets out a soft breath, closing his eyes because the words sound wrong. He thinks of his father, of his grandfather, of their moods and their whims, and he knows they aren't the same, knows that somehow he is strange. It is not they who love differently, it is him, only him, and now he is truly alone.
But Leon steps forward slowly, through the fire, so brave, placing a tentative palm on D's covered forearm. His hand is warm.
"Teach me, then," he offers, so earnest, so trusting, but D shakes his head.
"There are things that I need, things you cannot provide. It simply isn't in your nature."
Leon frowns, palm curling, tightening against D's flesh. He's taking offense and D knows it, knows why, knows that Leon never, ever feels good enough.
"What do you mean?" Leon asks, and D bites his lip.
"My dear detective…you are fickle." He tries not to make it sound like an accusation, but it is one. "The number of women you have bedded, and the posters on your wall—all of this speaks of your need for variety." He shakes his head, Leon's touch still burning on his arm, but D is thinking of his mouth. "So many women—I can taste them on your lips." He looks at the floor, clutching his hands together tighter. It hurts to even acknowledge it, but it has to be said. "In the end, you could never be pleased with just me. And I could not bear it if you were unfaithful."
Leon looks about to argue, but D isn't finished. "I asked you to stay forever, Detective, and I meant it. But forever is a long time for a human to love one person."
Leon is silent now, angry but thoughtful, clearly trying to work something out in his mind. He lets go of D, stepping back and scratching his head absently, eyes searching the floor for answers.
D watches, impatient. The distance between them means he can almost breathe again, but drowning in Leon is a much better fate than standing here waiting on words. His own are echoing through his head, and he's certain they're true, but more than anything he wants Leon to prove him wrong.
And now Leon's looking at him again, with the smallest of smiles. "Forever forever?" he asks.
But instead of being charmed, D's gaze turns icy. "I'm not about to watch you die, Leon," he says, affronted, and annoyed that the question was asked. "Forever would be a requirement. I assumed you knew that."
"But then I wouldn't be human anymore, would I?"
Mmmm. D can see where this argument is going. Of course Leon would choose to be clever now.
He opens his mouth to protest, but Leon cuts him off.
"If you hadn't been skulking around my apartment in the dark, you might have noticed that the posters are gone." Leon waves his hand, indicating the bare walls. "And I don't even remember the last time there was a woman around here—"
"Three months ago," D cuts in. "You kept carrying on about a girl named Jessie."
There's a short silence, as Leon's smile grows wide.
"You were jealous!" he crows, but D isn't amused.
"Your list of conquests is longer than your memory," he observes coldly, but his cheeks are warm with embarrassment.
Leon's grin slowly fades into a frown. "You know what I'm getting at, D," he says, crossing his arms. "You say I'm gonna get tired of you, and I say you're wrong. So just bring on the mermaid guts and let's get this over with."
D's eyes widen in surprise—not because Leon is willing, but because he remembers. Meanwhile, the shocked silence causes Leon's grin to return.
"D, when you come all the way to the precinct to tell me about old Chinese legends, I figure there's got to be a reason." Leon steps closer, causing D to shiver, to fall in again, to lose his breath. A hand reaches for D's waist, sliding against the dark brocade, slipping past his defenses, moving gently up and down. And D wonders vaguely: if Leon Orcot is daring to pet him, then who is master of whom?
"I won't be unfaithful. There won't be anyone else." The words are quiet, serious, soothing, convincing. D closes his eyes, trying to find some way to fight them. But then Leon says, "I'll be yours, D. Just yours," and he knows he can't fight anymore.
So his eyes flash open and suddenly Leon is against the wall and his face is frightened but D doesn't care. That dangerous litany of mine, mine, mine is running through his head, and his hands must be listening because they're claiming bare skin. And then he's kissing Leon fiercely, all anger and need, and maybe just a little bit of hope.
Leon moans, and the fear is gone.
And though there are hundreds of reasons why this shouldn't be happening, D pushes them aside. He's made his choice.
He's never going to let Leon leave.
The End